Crimsonality
by Sabriel41
Summary: The Jenova Project's final days and the fine art of creating a ghost. [I like to think, Valentine, that my modesty is what has kept me alive.]


**Crimsonality**

_. o ._

Hello, Valentine.

I wish I could say this – any of this - was a surprise. You were supposed to protect us, and in that capacity you have performed adequately. I shall be sure to write back to Midgar commending you for your diligence, particularly where my wife was concerned.

_No. _

Don't insult my considerable intelligence by lying. Of course I knew what you were trying to do: stealing Lu from under my nose was particularly foolish for a man as lauded for his intellect and even nature as you have been. You _should_ have known better. You also should have known better than to come down here. And don't you speak to me about rules, Turk; I was around when they were writing the book you follow down to the last black-block letter – I believe I assisted in its creation at a time when you must have been running around in swaddling clothes.

If they knew to what extent _I_ had broken their silly little rules, I would be dead, Valentine. The key word, you chivalrous fool, is _if._

They will never know. I have no reason to speak, and you no longer are able to, though you certainly did try before the drugs I gave you reacted with the Mako and brought you to your knees before you could even ascend the stairs. An interesting, if not completely unexpected reaction, and it is truly a pity that you have become too unstable to experiment upon further. It is for the best, I suppose; my wife finds human subjects distasteful. Ridiculous what we will do for the love of a woman, _isn't_ it, Valentine?

A pity, because what I have done is revolutionary.

If I were any other man… but I am not. I shall have to remain content with sharing this secret with you.

…Pompous? _I?_ I like to think that my modesty is what has kept me alive. It is a simple code, you see: keep my secrets while allowing others to keep theirs. The fact that you've persistently looked into that which should not concern you… well, it explains why you are here now, does it not? Did you honestly think you could walk out of this mission as a hero, revealing the mad scientist for what he was while rescuing the fair maiden from the monster's grasp? Turks aren't _supposed_ to be fools; I wonder what the Company teaches you in my absence.

I may be mad, yes, but you, Valentine? You are almost dead. If you wake from this – and I doubt you shall – you shall find I will have stripped you of your even nature but left you enough intelligence to see that you will have become the monster you so enjoy naming me. I find this judgement poetic, but I can see from your snarls that you disagree. Not that it matters; what is done cannot be undone now.

I would wish you sweet dreams, Turk, but I know they'll elude you. Nor do you deserve them. You've not much time left – your eyelids must feel weighted down from the way that you're fluttering them at me so very angrily. You can't even hold your fists together anymore. Valentine, even you must admit that you cannot be angry at any of this: you have found what you were looking for.

Truth.

Mine, Lu's, those of the child that is yet to come… You should feel privileged, you know. True, my methods are unconventional, but madness has always lain close with prodigy. In ten years' time, the Planet shall forget that there ever was a Turk named Vincent Valentine. My life and achievements, however, and those of my son – _my_ son – shall not go as gently as you did. He shall be great, he will be glorious and you _will_ hear of his victories even in this tomb you have chosen. Brilliance runs in the family, you know. Or, more appropriately, you should have known.

_Hm'm._ Asleep already?

Good night, Turk Valentine.

Sleep well.

_. o ._

…_finis…_

_. o ._

* * *

_Disclaimer:_ I'm just borrowing Hojo from Squeenix; they can have him back now. Really. 

_Sabe's Scribbles:_ Written for **Reno Spiegel;** this is from his prompt for FF7-fic, dark comedy, and "I like to think that my modesty is what has kept me alive." Merry Christmas, 'Spiegel, and all the best. At one point, this occurred far in the future with an eavesdropping, rookie Elena, a mischievous Reno, and a seriously creepy conversation with a disembodied arm, but what's here is the soul of the piece. That said, reviews feed the writer; thoughts and commentary are always welcomed gladly. Cheers!


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